


Losing You

by jordan11240



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Death, College, Dead Marco Bott, Death, Depression, Love, M/M, Sad, jeanmarco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 17:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3143420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jordan11240/pseuds/jordan11240
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Marco were in love. Anyone who knew them would tell you the same thing: unconditionally, irrevocably in love. They had it all planned. College. Marriage. A life together. But all of this was crushed after the accident. With Marco gone, Jean must face the future. Though his friends are by his side, he feels abandoned and lost. His future is blurred, but one thing is clear. Marco was the best thing that had ever happened to him. And now he must face losing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing You

**Author's Note:**

> This is meant to be a sad fic! If you are triggered by a death, in this case by car crash, as well as the grief that comes along with losing a loved one, I don't recommend proceeding. Thank you!

January 15th

8:14 p.m.

No. It can’t be true. He’s fine. He’s fine. Jean’s thoughts were a blur. He couldn’t feel the tears on his cheeks, but he knew they were there. His phone lay on the bed, Sasha’s icon lit up and her voice coming through the speaker. He couldn’t hear what she was saying. It couldn’t be true. 

Marco couldn’t just leave like this. When he needed him the most. They were supposed to go to college together. Hell, they were supposed to get married. He’d promised. He’d promised. 

Jean could now feel the tears burning streams down his face, which grew warmer by the second. He wanted to cry, to scream, to throw himself out into the freezing mid-January night until he could no longer feel anything. Instead he crumpled onto the floor of his bedroom, pulling his knees to his chest. And he cried. He sobbed. He allowed grief to consume him, as if it were an unrelenting fire, catching in his chest and his stomach and his throat until it was all he knew. 

“Marco,” he whispered through his tears. Again. “Marco.” Louder. “Marco.” Until he was shouting, “Marco! Marco!” and his throat was hoarse and he began to cough over his sobs. “Why? Tell me why!” he tried to shout, instead choking, a coughing fit wracking in his chest. He heard footsteps on the stairs and then his mother was beside him, taking him in her arms. He cried until he was numb and his limbs were asleep and his mother was still there beside him, rubbing slow circles on his back. The phone rang. She left and then returned. Jean did not move. For he feared if he moved that it would be true. 

Marco was dead.


End file.
